


puppy love

by WeeBeastie



Series: after all verse [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, because that's how these guys roll, but also sex, cute domestic stuff, maybe a little crack-y if you squint, old pirate husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: and they called it puppy loveoh, i guess they'll never knowhow a young heart really feels





	puppy love

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of my AU/reunion fic ‘only human, after all.’ This won’t make much sense if you don’t read that first, but do what you like, I’m not the boss of you. This is a fluffy little thing I had to write because once again I got an image in my head and it wouldn’t leave me alone.
> 
> Title and summary taken from the song "Puppy Love" by Paul Anka, both for literal reasons that will become clear and because I sort of love the idea of my old pirate husbands feeling giddy teenage young-at-heart love for each other. I'm a sap.
> 
> Rated E because these two can’t keep their hands off each other, even when I’m trying to write something cute and fluffy.
> 
> So much thanks and love to my beautiful wonderful Tumblr crew for encouraging me and my crazy plot ideas. You all are the best. <3

It's late. Dark outside, now, and Flint can't help feeling anxious because Silver isn't home yet. They've been living together on Flint’s modest farm in Louisiane territory for the better part of a year, and while Silver often ventures into town during the day, he always returns by sundown. 

Not so, on this particular night.

Flint paces in the front room, unable to stay still while he waits for Silver to come home. His mind is full of terrible possibilities - what if Silver’s fallen in a ditch and can't get out? What if someone has seen past the genial smile and the (admittedly not very good) alias of ‘Jean Vane’ and recognized him as the man who once was Long John Silver? What if he's gone off somewhere, disappeared of his own volition? Just as Flint is about to get his coat and go striding into the night to find Silver himself, he hears noises on the porch. 

Moments later the front door opens, and there at last is Silver. He's got his crutch under his left arm as per usual, but his right arm is cradled to his chest. Flint immediately worries he's been hurt.

“Are you all right? Where have you been?” he demands, placing his hands lightly on Silver’s shoulders and holding him at arm’s length, carefully looking him over. “Why are you holding your arm that way?”

“I’m absolutely fine, you complete mother hen. I intended to be home earlier but I got waylaid by...well, look,” Silver says, and moves his right arm away from his chest so Flint can see what he's got nestled in the crook of his elbow.

It's a...Flint isn't sure what it is at first, only that it's small and furry and black with white markings, squinty little eyes, and tiny paws. It's making soft whimpering noises and mouthing Silver’s coat like it's trying to nurse.

“Oh, Jesus. What have you done,” Flint says with a resigned sigh.

“I found it in an alley in town, all by itself. I couldn't just leave it there, James, it would've died,” Silver says, holding the whimpering thing close to his body. Flint thinks it's a dog. Probably.

“I don't want pets, John, you know this. We have enough animals to look after as it is, we do not need a puppy,” Flint says, going to the parlor to find something in the liquor cabinet. He can feel a headache coming on, now that his relief at seeing Silver home again has subsided.

“You let Randall have a cat,” Silver points out, following Flint into the parlor.

“Thirty years ago!” Flint says incredulously, yanking the cork from a rum bottle with his teeth. “On a ship. It makes sense to have a cat on a ship, and again, that was thirty _fucking_ years ago,” he says, taking a long drink of rum and studying Silver.

“Tell me it doesn't make sense to have a dog on a farm. It can herd the goats!” Silver says, still holding the tiny, ugly thing close like he's protecting it.

“We have two goats. That's not even a crowd, never mind a herd,” Flint says, but he can feel his resolve weakening as Silver looks at him.

Silver slowly approaches Flint, all soft blue eyes and a hopeful smile. Damn him, he still knows how to get what he wants from Flint. “Please, James,” he says, his voice almost a purr. “It won't be a very big dog, just look how tiny and helpless it is. Poor little runt. I'll train it and look after it, you'll hardly even know it's here,” he says, leaning in to rest his forehead on Flint’s for a moment.

“Fine,” Flint says with a put-upon sigh. “If it survives the night, you can keep it, I suppose. But don't get too attached, it looks very young yet to be away from its mother. She might've abandoned it because she knew it didn't really have a chance,” he warns Silver gently.

“I’ll get some goat’s milk to feed it. Thank you, James, truly. You won't regret this, and I'm sorry I worried you by getting home so late,” Silver says, kissing Flint softly before going off to find what he needs to keep his tiny new charge alive.

Eventually Flint retires upstairs to bed, leaving Silver and the newborn puppy on the couch in the parlor, the puppy eagerly sucking goat’s milk from Silver’s fingers. When Flint gets up the next morning, he finds Silver asleep, prone on the couch, still in his clothes with the puppy dozing on his chest. It has survived the night.

Flint absolutely does not find the sight of them snoring together adorable, or sweet, or moving at all. Whatsoever.

 

\---

 

After the first few precarious weeks pass and the puppy seems big enough to survive on its own without as much mothering from Silver, Flint finally concedes that the thing needs a name. They're sitting side by side in rocking chairs on the front porch in the late morning, the puppy gamboling clumsily at their feet while they drink their tea and discuss the options. More accurately, Silver discusses them while Flint half-listens. It's hot out already, and Flint keeps getting distracted by how Silver’s tanned, tattooed skin practically glows in the humid morning.

“At first I thought, I'll just call him James, because then you'll be more inclined to like him. But that might get confusing, I realized,” Silver is saying, thinking out loud like he does. “For example, if I say James, take your mouth off that or James, get your nose out of my--”

“John.”

“--you might not know who I was talking to. Same problem with calling him John, you see,” Silver says, sipping his tea and chuckling at the puppy’s antics. “But after much consideration, I believe I've found the perfect solution.” He looks keenly at Flint, waiting.

“What is his name, then?” Flint asks, humoring him.

“John James Flint Silver McGraw the second,” Silver says, obviously proud of himself and of the name. “But he'll be called Junior for short.” 

“Junior,” Flint repeats, trying not to find it endearing that Silver wants the dog to be named for both of them. “If that's what you want,” he says with a little smile, shaking his head.

“He knows his name already, don't you, lad?” Silver asks, addressing the puppy as it attacks his one shoe. “Junior, quit that. Daddy only has one good foot as it is,” he says, laughing, while the dog pulls at his boot laces with its small sharp teeth.

“Daddy?” Flint echoes, raising his eyebrows at Silver. “That is patently ridiculous. He's a dog, not your child.”

“Don't listen to Father, you're as much a part of this family as I am and he is,” Silver unnecessarily consoles Junior, picking him up and setting him in his lap. Junior yawns, then curls up and settles in for a nap, obviously not bothered by anything Flint has to say.

“You’re already besotted with him,” Flint says, sighing ruefully. “I might start feeling jealous,” he teases Silver gently, nudging him with his elbow.

Silver grins, leaning over to whisper to Flint, one rough hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Not to worry,” he says in his ear, nipping him gently. “I’m besotted with you, too.”

He sits back and Flint does his best not to feel a glowing warmth in his heart at the sight of Silver, who still looks for all in the world like a tough old buccaneer, holding a fat, dozing puppy in his lap.

 

\---

 

Flint is having a pleasant dream about Silver one night a few months later when suddenly the dream takes a strange turn and Silver is licking only his face, endlessly. It's oddly arousing first but then it quickly gets irritating. Flint opens his eyes to tell Silver off and finds himself staring instead into the baleful dark brown eyes of Junior.

“Get off me, no dogs in the bedroom,” Flint says, sitting up and putting Junior on the floor. “John. _John_ ,” he says, shaking Silver, because if he has to be awake at an ungodly hour thanks to the dog then Silver does, too. “How did Junior get in here? I thought you put him in his bed in the hall and shut the door.”

“I did,” Silver groans, smacking Flint’s hand away irritably. He's not very nice when awakened in the middle of the night, unsurprisingly. “I don't know how he got in, ask him.”

“Ask-- right, why didn't I think of that,” Flint grumbles. He heaves himself out of bed with a curse and shoos Junior to the bedroom door. It's wide open. Strange. He makes sure Junior is safely on the other side of it, then closes the door again and stands back, waiting.

There's a bit of whining and scrabbling, and then the door handle begins to turn ever so slowly. Flint feels a peculiar mix of dread and pride as the door swings open and Junior trots in, looking rather pleased with himself.

“The lad is already tall enough to reach the door handles, and he's figured them out. Fuck me,” Flint says, grudgingly impressed.

“Already did, but give me a minute to properly wake up and we'll go again,” comes Silver’s muzzy voice from the bed.

“Your daddy thinks he's very clever,” Flint tells Junior as he scoots him back out into the hall. “I don't always agree. Now, I don't need to tell you that impressed though I am with your newfound skills, for the sake of propriety you must stay out here in your own bed. Father and Daddy need privacy sometimes, you understand. I'm going to lock the door. I'm sorry,” he says. He closes the door, feeling only a little guilty as he turns the lock and goes back to bed with Silver.

“You called us Father and Daddy,” Silver says, peering at Flint from behind his mess of silver-streaked curls, a sleepy smile on his face. He reaches out for Flint and folds his arms around him with a quiet, contented sigh.

“I did no such thing, don't be stupid,” Flint says as he rests his head on Silver’s chest and closes his eyes. He thinks he feels Silver laughing at him before he falls back asleep.

 

\---

 

They're both standing in the front room a month or so later as Junior sits in front of them, tail happily thumping the floor. He's practically smiling up at them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“John,” Flint ventures, rubbing one hand over his white beard in thought.

“Mm,” Silver responds, leaning on his crutch with his arms folded, his brow furrowed in consideration.

“I was saying, I really think he's bigger than he was yesterday,” Flint says, taking in Junior’s blocky head, broad chest, and absolutely massive paws. He's growing into a handsome dog, but he's doing so at a downright alarming rate. His legs are so long he looks coltish, and he has yet to grow into his ears.

“I’m fairly certain that if we stand here long enough, we'll actually see him growing,” Silver agrees.

“I distinctly remember you telling me he wouldn't get very big, and that he was a runt,” Flint says, glancing accusingly at Silver.

“Why did you listen to me? I know nothing about dogs, I was just trying to get you to let me keep him,” Silver says, looking at Flint.

“I suppose I figured that since you're also a runt, you ought to know,” Flint says wryly, smirking. Silver snorts. “He’s going to be the size of a small horse at this rate. He's not even a year old yet, and he's already so big,” Flint laments. 

“He’s a good boy though, aren't you? Come here, Junior,” Silver says, calling him over with a grin on his face.

Junior trots over eagerly, getting up on his back legs and putting his front paws on Flint’s hips, leaning in as Flint scratches behind his ears with no small amount of affection.

“Why does he only ever stand up on _me_ like this? We've got to get him trained to stop doing that before he gets bigger than I am. He could knock someone over. He could knock _you_ over,” Flint points out, glancing over at Silver.

“He wouldn't do that. He knows,” Silver says with a tight little smile. “He knows Daddy is a one-legged creature, same as he knows he's a dog.”

“You are not a creature,” Flint says, leaning over to kiss Silver tenderly on his whiskered cheek. “And I'm not so sure he knows he's a dog. Probably thinks he's a person, the way you spoil him.”

“He isn't spoiled!” Silver argues, turning to go into the kitchen and start making supper for them. “Come on, son, there's chicken,” he addresses Junior, and the dog gets down off Flint in a rush and hurries after Silver, nearly losing his footing on the wooden floor in his haste.

“You’re just proving my point!” Flint calls after them.

If Flint is the one who slips Junior bits of chicken underneath the table at supper, well, they both just pretend not to notice.

 

\---

 

Silver is in the bath after a long, hot day of working outdoors, the door to the bathroom wide open and a fully grown Junior curled on the floor by the foot of the tub, keeping a watchful eye on Silver lest he start drowning. Junior has exceeded even Flint’s estimation of how big he would get; he stands nearly three feet tall at the shoulder and on his hind legs can see clear over Flint’s head. He weighs probably close to two hundred pounds.

“For such a big dog he's certainly concerned about a lot of harmless things. He doesn't trust you being in the water, I don't think,” Flint observes from where he's standing nearby, drying himself off after his own bath. He and Silver usually don't bother drawing separate baths for themselves, unless both of them are particularly filthy. Silver is bathing in Flint’s old bathwater, and Flint thinks he secretly enjoys it.

“Too right. He would hate the sea, just like Daddy does,” Silver says, leaning over the edge of the tub to affectionately pat Junior on the head. “I should show you the new trick we've been working on,” he says, grinning at Flint. He turns to address Junior, getting his attention first. “Psst. Junior. Come and help Daddy,” he says.

Flint watches curiously as Junior heaves himself to his feet, his tail wagging, and plods over to where Silver’s crutch is resting against the wall. He takes it gently in his teeth and brings it over to Silver, setting it down within his reach. Silver reaches out to steady himself with a hand on Junior’s strong shoulders and stands up, balancing easily enough on his one leg with Junior’s help until he can grab his crutch and hop nimbly out of the bath.

“Isn’t he clever?” Silver asks, pride obvious on his face. “I’ve taught him that ‘help Daddy’ means I need him to fetch my crutch or help me with my balance. It's a good thing he ended up the size of a horse, see, I couldn't do that with a smaller dog.”

“Yes, it's a wonderful thing our dog is so big that people cross the road to avoid him,” Flint says dryly, hoping his face doesn't betray how lovely he thinks it is to see their dog so eager to help Silver, the one who saved his life in the first place. He catches Silver’s gaze and can't help smiling softly at him.

Junior ruins the sweet moment by sticking his massive head in the bathtub and eagerly drinking some of the dirty, soapy water before Silver can stop him.

“Fuck’s sake, Junior, that's disgusting,” Silver says with a laugh, grabbing him by his fine leather collar (a birthday present from Flint, who pretended at the time not to know it was approximately Junior’s birthday) and pulling him back from the tub. Silver shoos him away and strolls over to Flint, both of them still naked, and clean now. “Seeing you this way always gives me ideas,” he rumbles, putting a hand on Flint’s bare, freckled hip and leaning in to kiss him.

Flint pulls back after a moment, all too aware of Junior’s eyes on them, openly and curiously watching as they embrace. “Not in front of the lad,” he tells Silver and chucks a towel at him.

 

\---

 

Silver is in the kitchen preparing something for their lunch when Flint comes in to take a break from working outside and finds himself instead staring openly at Silver, an undeniable surge of lust coursing through him. Silver has his gray-streaked hair tied back and his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and is as always singing while he works. Seeing Silver in his element always does things to Flint.

“Way, hey, and up she rises early in the morning,” Silver sings, ignoring Flint for the moment though Flint is certain Silver knows he's there. “Put him into bed with his quartermaster, put him into bed with his quartermaster,” he sings, glancing up at Flint and winking.

“I don't believe that's how the song traditionally goes,” Flint murmurs, amused, watching Silver’s capable hands work.

“Well, there are no actual captain’s daughters around here, and even if we instead take captain’s daughter to mean cat o’ nine as it sometimes does, I don't think either of us fancies being in bed with that,” Silver says. He pauses, ears going pink. “Besides which, I don't own a cat o’ nine and I don't think you do, either, even if...yes.”

“I do, actually,” Flint says casual as you please, studying the dirt under his fingernails.

“Where?” Silver asks, looking at Flint, his eyes gone wide. “I mean. Because. I know this house well by now and I've rifled through your things plenty of times; I think I would remember finding something like that.”

“I do know how to hide things from you, John Silver,” Flint says, walking over to him with what can only be described as a swagger in his hips. He takes the paring knife from Silver’s hand and sets it aside, then raises his fingers to his lips, kissing them lightly. Silver’s hand tastes faintly of the tomato he'd been peeling.

“Is it in that locked trunk under the bed? I never have found the key for that, and it seems nigh on impossible to break into,” Silver says, his throat working as Flint kisses his hand.

“No,” Flint says, unconvincingly, then pulls Silver in close and kisses him, one hand sliding up under the back of his shirt. With his other hand he pushes aside everything Silver has carefully laid out, then takes hold of Silver’s hips with both hands and boosts him up on to the table.

“Here?” Silver asks breathlessly, even as he pulls his shirt off over his head and helps Flint out of his. “But you always tell me no when I try to have it off with you in the kitchen. This is where we eat, John, you say, and then I make a smart remark about eating--”

“ _John_. Has anyone ever told you that you talk far too fucking much?” Flint asks, yanking his trousers open and reaching out to assist Silver in shimmying out of his. 

“You have, once or twice,” Silver says with a little grin. He lies back on the kitchen table and watches Flint, waiting.

Flint just hums in response and grabs for the bottle of cooking oil on the table. He uncorks it and pours some over his fingers, then sets the bottle safely aside and eases two fingers into Silver. He meets little resistance; this isn't the first time they've done this today.

“Thought I wore you out this morning,” Silver pants, then clenches his teeth together and moans deep in his chest.

“You thought wrong,” Flint informs him lowly, quickly opening Silver up with his fingers. Once he's sure he's got him ready, he pulls Silver to the edge of the table and sinks into him in one smooth thrust, his fingers digging into Silver’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“Ahh, fuck,” Silver gasps, throwing his head back with such enthusiasm that it thuds hard against the wooden table. He doesn't seem to care, though, as he just puts his one leg around Flint’s waist and tugs him in even closer.

“John,” Flint groans, letting go of his hips in favor of bracing his hands on the table on either side of Silver’s head. He bends over him and fucks him without preamble, so hard the table starts creaking, threatening to fall apart underneath them.

Silver reaches up with one hand, tangling his fingers in Flint’s sweaty white hair and pulling him close to whisper breathlessly in his ear. “You could tell I like the idea of the cat o’ nine, couldn't you?” he pants, pushing his hips up to meet Flint’s thrust for thrust. “I would let you, if you wanted. I want it. Oh, yes, there,” he says, canting his hips up when Flint finds the perfect spot inside him. 

“You and your filthy fucking mouth,” Flint groans, biting down hard on Silver’s shoulder. He's getting close already, and Silver whispering in his ear is only urging him on.

Silver manages to get his other hand between them, stroking himself in time with the movement of their hips. “I would love it, I get so fucking hard when you're rough with me,” he says, bucking wildly into his own hand. “I bet you'd love it, too, you could tie me up and gag me, put me face down on our bed, make me-- _ahh_!” He cries out as he comes suddenly, his grip tightening in Flint’s hair enough to make his eyes water.

Flint comes with the image of Silver trussed up and waiting for him in their bed vivid in his mind. He collapses on top of him and does his best not to crush him into the table, kissing his shoulder in a gentle apology for how hard he bit him there.

“You are astounding,” Silver pants as he gets his breath back, grinning at Flint like he can't quite believe his luck.

“Thank you,” Flint says, grinning back at him in much the same way.

They're both so lost in appreciating each other they almost don't hear the quiet, curious ‘whuff’ from the doorway. Flint looks up, startled, and realizes Junior is sitting there watching them, head tipped slightly to one side.

Silver looks over, starting to laugh when he sees the inquisitive look on the dog’s face. “Well, fuck, so much for not being inappropriate in front of the lad,” he groans, scrubbing both hands over his face.

Flint pulls out of Silver with a quiet noise of satisfaction, shaking his head. “I have no idea how long he was there, either.”

“Hopefully we haven't made him too depraved by association,” Silver says, sitting up and starting to clean himself off with his shirt. Flint stares for a moment, unable to help himself when met with the sight of Silver’s still impressive muscles and lord help him, all those tattoos.

“If we have it's entirely your fault,” Flint finally says, picking his old brown shirt up off the floor and tugging it on backwards, still distracted.

“My fault? How? You're the one who came in here giving me the eye and kissing my fingers all gallant, swaggering over to me like you don't know what the sight of you does to me,” Silver says accusingly, taking the tie out of his wild hair so he can try to corral it back into some semblance of order.

“I don't know how, it just is,” Flint says. He pauses in getting re-dressed and leans in to kiss Silver, lingering, the cat o’ nine tails still in the back of his mind. “Perhaps I'll have to...punish you for it,” he suggests in a seductive rumble when he pulls back.

“Oh no, please don't,” Silver replies, a wicked grin stealing over his features.

 

\---

 

It's only been a day, as far as Flint is aware. He remembers standing up in the morning and feeling a little off, turning to Silver to say something about that, and then - nothing. 

He slowly comes back to himself in the golden light of the early evening. The first thing he's aware of is a cool damp cloth on his forehead, and then he hears a familiar voice near him, humming to him softly.

The humming stops when he opens his eyes. Everything seems blurry and too bright at first, but then his eyes adjust and he can see Silver sitting up next to him in the bed. Silver’s face is drawn and paler than usual, his customary glow dimmed. He's got dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair is a rat’s nest, and Flint thinks he can see a few new streaks and flecks of gray in his beard and his curls. One of these days he'll be entirely silver-maned, and Flint can't wait to see that.

“Welcome back,” Silver says quietly. He dabs at Flint’s temple with the cloth, and Flint can tell by his eyes and the set of his shoulders how relieved he is to see Flint awake.

“How long was I out for?” Flint asks hoarsely, and thanks Silver quietly when he hands him a cup of water from the bedside table.

“Four days,” Silver says. “You had a fever,” he explains, carding his fingers gently through Flint’s snowy white hair. “And you scared Junior half to death. He kept bringing you that disgusting old sock he likes, trying to get you to wake up and play with him.”

“I scared Junior, did I,” Flint repeats softly, looking into Silver’s tired blue eyes.

“Yes. He's asked me to make sure you never do something like this again,” Silver says. He turns to look at the bedroom door, which is half-shut. “It’s all right, son, you can come in now. Father’s awake,” he says.

Their giant of a dog comes loping into the room, looking excited to see his two favorite people in the same place at the same time. He climbs up easily into the bed with them, settling down on Flint’s other side and dropping the aforementioned sock by his hand.

Flint doesn't bother mustering the strength to be annoyed at having the dog in their bed. “Hello, lad,” he greets him, scratching under his chin. “I am terribly sorry to have worried you. I know I'm an old man, but I'm fine now. I won't do that again,” he says as Junior leans into the affectionate scratching, his tail whacking the bed.

Flint looks up at Silver, recognizing his expression as the one he wears when lost in thought. “What is it?” he asks gently.

“I was just thinking about how lucky I am, to have what I do,” Silver says, leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses on Flint’s forehead.

“We are of the same mind,” Flint responds quietly, taking in the scene - himself, Silver, and the massive dog Silver saved from death when he was small enough to fit in one of Silver’s hands.

“We usually are,” Silver agrees, smiling wearily at Flint.

Flint reaches over and smoothes Silver’s hair back from his face, then looks fondly at Junior. Silently he admires the formidable man and beast who, together, make up his family now.


End file.
